


Don't Look Now

by purpleduvet (maga_nw)



Series: Tumblr Shorts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Derek Hale, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingering, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2614472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maga_nw/pseuds/purpleduvet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek is on his hands and knees, he feels in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Look Now

Derek is on his knees on the bed, his head resting on his folded arms on the mattress and his ass up in the air. He thinks he’s still wearing his socks, but he’s not sure. He’s almost forgotten where he is, all he’s aware of is Stiles’ tongue on his ass. He lost track of time a while ago, but he’s sure Stiles has been going at it for so long he probably can’t feel his mouth anymore. Derek is a blubbering mess.

“Ngh, _Stiles_ ,” he manages to call out, his lips wet and dragging against his own wrist.

Stiles’ tongue stops the relentless thrusting into Derek’s body and slips out smoothly, leaving Derek a little cold. It’s not gone for long. A second later, Stiles drags his tongue from Derek’s balls back up to his hole in one long, thorough lick and Derek gasps, juts his hips up and out.

“Fuck, look at you,” Stiles mutters, his voice raw. His hands, hot and strong on Derek’s hips, slide back to his cheeks and spread him again, making him whine. Stiles kisses the dip of his spine, tightens his fingers against Derek’s flesh as he moves behind him. One of his hands moves inwards and then Stiles’ thumb is stretching him, going in to the second knuckle and Derek might be sobbing a little.

He screws his eyes shut as Stiles’ finger pumps in and out of him, wet with spit. It’s too dry and Derek whimpers at the slight pain of it, meeting every prod with a roll of his hips.

When the hand disappears a moment later, he hears the sound of a bottle snapping open and then a longer, wetter finger is pushing inside without resistance. Derek groans, turns his head in his arms so he can hide his burning face for a moment, bite his lip against all the words threatening to spill out of him.

“Derek,” Stiles is saying. “Come out of there, come on.”

His finger slips out entirely, only to be joined by a second one in the next push. Derek pushes back, now resting his cheek against his arms, giving Stiles a peek of his sweaty face. He’ll hide it again in a second.  

By the time Stiles is three fingers in, Derek can’t take it anymore. Every little curl of Stiles’ knuckles inside of him hits him just right, and his dick twitches every time, hanging down heavy between his legs, untouched and leaking freely onto the sheets.

“Stiles,” he moans, can’t help it, and Stiles’ movements stutter before his fingers are spreading, scissoring as far as they can a couple of times.

When they’re gone a second later, Derek pants, his damp hair in his eyes, his lips numb. He hears Stiles slicking himself up and slides his knees further apart, tilts his ass up.

“Fuck,” Stiles says. “Fuck, okay.”

Derek is making noises as soon as he feels Stiles hands back on him, spreading his cheeks again, taking a moment before inching forward and placing the tip of his cock against Derek’s rim. He rubs it there a few times, resisting Derek’s attempts at pushing back against it until Derek is growling and Stiles is laughing, breathless.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he says and then he’s moving, slowly sliding inside. Derek grits his teeth at the burn of it, the stretch always a little too much before Stiles is stopping halfway through to let him adjust.

The first couple of thrusts are shallow, barely a disturbance as Derek grunts and Stiles swears above him. But then Stiles moves out all the way only to push back in in one slide until he’s bottoming out and both of them are panting.

“You okay?” Stiles breathes on the back of Derek’s neck as he drapes himself around him, nudges his hips forward a little, as if testing if he can get any deeper.

“Move,” Derek tells him and Stiles rolls his hips, moves slowly in and out of Derek and kisses his shoulder, his jaw, his cheek, anywhere he can reach. His chest is flush against Derek’s back, slick with sweat. Stiles’ hands are gripping at Derek’s thighs, but they move up to his shoulders when his thrusts pick up the pace, press him down until he feels his legs starting to give.

Stiles stops abruptly and pulls out, but before Derek can protest, he’s turning him around on his back and pushing back in as if he never stopped in the first place.

Derek has to close his eyes, it’s hard to look at Stiles’ flushed, intent face, his dark eyes trained on him. He always looks so focused, Derek is afraid he’s going to show him too much.

So he closes his eyes tight and throws an arm over them, his other hand clasped around Stiles’ shoulder.

“Derek,” Stiles whines, his dick deep inside Derek, his fingers scrabbling at Derek’s arm, trying to get him to drop it away from his face. “Derek, come on.”

Derek wraps his legs around Stiles’ waist and pulls him closer, making him moan and curse.

“Keep moving,” Derek says, itching to touch himself but resisting.

“Let me see your face,” Stiles replies, voice strained. His hips are still, Derek can feel him trembling. He rolls his hips and Stiles groans and sits up so he can grab at Derek’s legs. He pulls them away from around him and hooks his knees over his shoulders, bending Derek practically in half. Derek has to bite his lips to keep from making a sound at the angle. He needs a hand around his dick an hour ago.

He feels Stiles impossibly deep like this. Swears he can feel the length of him stretching, pulsing, but he knows it’s not really possible. He likes to believe he can, anyway. And he wants Stiles to start moving already.

“Derek,” Stiles says, his voice a wavering little whisper. “Look at me.”

Derek stalls.

He doesn’t like doing this in this position. He wants his back to Stiles, he wants to feel him behind him, inside him, all around. He wants to let go and not worry about what Stiles is going to see on his face, because he knows that whatever it is will make him impossibly vulnerable.

When Derek is on his hands and knees, he feels in control.

Right now he’s at Stiles’ mercy and he can’t really move anywhere, can barely even think about moving because he’s so full, paralyzed, with his knees practically touching his shoulders. All he can do is clench around Stiles, draw a groan out of him and a little hip jerk that makes him bite down on a moan of his own.

“Derek, _please_.”

Stiles is dropping kisses all over the arm covering Derek’s face, he is nosing at his skin, attempting to push the arm away and Derek forces down a stupid smile and kicks at his back as best as he can.

“You gonna stay there all day?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

“If I have to,” Stiles replies, making a show of getting comfortable. Derek can feel his hairy forearms bracketing his sides, his knobby knees nudging underneath his ass so he can rest Derek’s weight there.

“And you’re gonna stay hard the whole time?”

“Try me,” Stiles murmurs against his mouth. The angle is wrong because Derek’s arm is in the way, but he’s not moving, no matter how badly he wants Stiles’ tongue in his mouth. Only thinking about what he had been doing before makes his neglected dick jump, a fresh drop of precome hitting his stomach.

“Your balls are looking a little blue, from where I’m standing,” Stiles says, attempting to sound casual and missing by a mile. Derek smirks, or tries to. He’s sure it looks more pained than anything.

“I know I can’t see anything right now, but I’m pretty sure you’re not standing,” he says.

“Ha ha,” Stiles grunts. “I wish I were flexible enough to suck you off like this.”

_Fuck._

“I mean,” Stiles goes on, “imagine the possibilities.”

There’s a short, thoughtful silence before Stiles speaks again.

“You think I can get you off just, like, talking? Because I’m still not moving until you drop your arm, but I have a pretty good view of your dick from here.”

“I’ll drop my arm if I can turn back around,” Derek says, avoiding the question because, honestly, Stiles could do pretty much anything right now and Derek would come embarrassingly quickly.

“Why won’t you let me look at you?” He sounds so earnest, warm and worried, his breath soft on Derek’s skin.

“Why do you want to look?”

“’cause you look perfect when you’re like this.”

Derek squeezes his eyes shut under his arm, feeling his face heat up.

“You look so fucking gorgeous when you come. You look so pretty when I’m inside you like this.”

Stiles’ words feel like a warm touch going down Derek’s entire body and his arm jumps, almost by its own volition.

Stiles seems to pick up on the movement, because he sounds like he’s smiling when he starts speaking again.

“I want to watch you come just like this, without a hand on you, and then I want to fuck your mouth until you get hard again. Would you like that? You love me in your mouth, I know you do.”

He moves then, a little, almost as if he can’t help it and Derek whines, lifts his hips up as much as he can before Stiles is pushing him back down against his thighs.

“Fuck, or maybe _I_ can come and then you can fuck me just like this. On my back, folded in half and you on top of me. That’s a good, _great_ idea.”

Yes, it is. And Derek’s dick is throbbing almost painfully by now. He moves his free hand from the iron grip he has on the sheets to his stomach, hoping Stiles is too distracted to notice. But he laughs breathlessly and stops him just as Derek’s fingertips hit the little puddle forming above his belly button.

“Drop your arm and I’ll think about it, big guy.”

Derek could cry. He could seriously cry, but instead just clenches again and Stiles lets out his own sob.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he says, voice breaking.

“It was your idea,” Derek gets out through his teeth.

“Nu uh, you started it.”

Derek laughs but it tappers off when he feels Stiles’ lips back on his skin. He’s mouthing at his neck, licking at his collarbone and Derek just wants his mouth lower. He needs him to move, only a few times, a little gust of wind on his dick would probably set him off by now. But Stiles is being careful to arch his back up, to avoid making any contact. Still, the small movement of his head as he marks Derek echoes through his body as strongly as a well-aimed thrust.

“If I move my arm,” Derek says before he’s even finished thinking of speaking, “you’ll fuck me?”

“Mmh, yes,” Stiles drawls against Derek’s pulse point.

“You’ll make me come on your dick alone?”

“Whatever you want, whatever—” Stiles pants, his thighs tensing underneath Derek, getting ready.

“And then?”

“Then? Then I…I’ll do whatever you want. You want to fuck me?” His teeth graze Derek’s jaw, his brow hitting Derek’s arm. “You want me to lick you clean? Or you want me to come on your face, down your thr- _shit_.”

Stiles jerks, incensed by his own words and Derek gasps, lifts his arm away from his face and places his hand over Stiles’ eyes.

“Go ahead,” he says as Stiles laughs, shocked and betrayed and as if it’s actually hurting him not to get to look at Derek.

“You’re an asshole.” But he’s moving, _finally_ moving. He sits up, using his shoulders to bring Derek’s knees almost to his ears and then he’s just pounding away, curving his back to hit Derek just _there_ as he braces himself on either side of Derek’s body.

Derek blindly brings his other hand to Stiles’ face, brushes his hair away from his damp forehead as his other one stays over his eyes.

Derek’s own eyes are still closed, his head thrown back, but he opens them when he feels the telltale pull in his belly, his balls drawing up as everything goes hot and white.

And this.

This is what he doesn’t want Stiles to see.

The way Derek looks at him when he’s coming, pulsing and panting and gritting his teeth. He doesn’t want Stiles to see the way Derek drinks in the sight of his pink mouth slack and open as he moves above him, his movements faltering when Derek tenses around him. Because like this, Derek feels wide open, completely bare in a way that being nude doesn’t make him feel. This way it’s like all the things he keeps quiet during the day are dancing in front of his face and one look at his expression would make Stiles…special.

Would make Derek weak.

Would give Stiles ammunition.

And it’s hard to keep his hands on Stiles’ eyes as he feels him coming apart, too. When Stiles’ pushes become frantic and he’s panting and his skin is slapping against Derek’s and the sound is not funny or embarrassing but a prelude, a sweet warning before he’s spilling inside Derek, hot and rough, then Derek wants to move his fingers away and see him as open and vulnerable as Derek feels.

And for a moment, when Stiles draws in a breath as if he’s dying, his cheeks splotchy and red, he wants Stiles to look at him, too. And then they’d be equal. They’d have all they need to destroy each other.

And Derek would stop feeling like he’s standing on a ledge every time Stiles smiles at him.


End file.
